Words of a Serpent
by Ramora
Summary: Journal writing has a whole new meaning. When Tom Riddle's old school journal makes its way into different hands, the Wizarding world is unprepared for the consequences. Neither is Draco Malfoy.
1. Dinner With the Malfoy's

It was a week before the first term of his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was to begin for Draco Malfoy, but it hardly felt that way. The sun still hung overhead instead of the usual rain clouds that littered the sky come start of the year - and Draco's hidden conscious was weighted down with the fact that he still had several essays to do.  
  
Instead of doing his Potions homework, as his father had ordered, Draco was casually leaning against the wall on the outside of a room he hardly ever went in as there was nothing really of interest in it. His ear was pressed to the thick oak door as he listened in on a what was likely the closing of a private conversation.   
  
It was second nature to him to hold his breathe as they talked - he knew all too well what his parent's would think and most importantly do if they caught him eavesdropping. Draco wasn't much worried about Narcissa's reaction, as a mother she could only feel motherly love toward her one and only son, but his father was more strict in handling discipline toward Draco, no matter how much his mother protested in return.   
  
"Lucius, do you not think Draco would find it?" Narcissa, his mother, asked. She mother grunted slightly, a sound she made when she was doing physical labour that was much to hard on her thin frame. There wasn't much in the room as far as Draco knew so the sound made him even more curious then he had been.   
  
"No. The magic surrounding it is much too powerful," Lucius said confidently, but from the way Narcissa could be heard tutting, clearly she didn't seem to believe him.  
  
"Well, if he finds it, don't you go blaming me." She testily warned him.  
  
Draco tried vainly to look through the small keyhole in the doorknob to see what they could possibly be talking about, but could only see the familiar back of his father's black robes. They swished slightly as Lucius stamped at the ground, furthering Draco's curiosity to dangerous heights.   
  
"It'll be gone within a few day's time anyway. We won't have to worry about it." There was a loud clunk as something slammed tightly.  
  
Draco was about to push the door open to interrupt, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever they were talking about, when he was distracted by two large green eyes peering at him from around the corner. An ear popped out as well, as the creature slowly came around after realising they had been caught.  
  
"What do you want, Dobby?" He snapped, irritated by the presence of the house-elf. Elves were stupid things in Draco's opinion, so he never felt the need to be kind.  
  
The house elf stepped forward, shaking visibly, "N-nothing young Master M-malfoy, sir."  
  
Draco smirked at its fright around him, "Get me a drink, Dobby."  
  
Nodding vigorously, Dobby scampered off towards the kitchen.   
  
He turned back to the door but the conversation had ended. His father must have Apparated to another part of the house so he wouldn't be bothered by a servant on his way and Narcissa was, Draco assumed, tidying up after what they had done which still wasn't apparent.  
  
He quietly turned the knob as to not distract his mother but she was closer to the door than he had thought. The Manor was old and, unfortunately, many of the doors creaked more loudly then was  
necessary.  
  
"Draco!" Narcissa said, sharply drawing in an audible gasp. Her hand was clutched over her heart as though she had been suddenly startled to near-death, but she was quickly trying to shoo him out of the room.  
  
"Mum," Draco whined. "What's in there?"  
  
He bobbed his head back and forth trying to see past his mother's figure but the door shut with a loud bang, blocking his view, again, from seeing inside.  
  
"That is none of your business, Draco. This is between your father and I." She dragged him by the arm away from the room until they were both a good distance from it down the hall. Draco tried to put up a fight by making her pull him but she was stronger then she looked. After pulling him up and straightening his clothes he tried again.  
  
"But --" he began.  
  
"No buts! Get to your room before your father finds out where you were," she ordered, frowning at her son.  
  
Draco pouted. Sticking his lower lip out usually got him his own way, but there was no changing her mind - she was just as stubborn as he was. He turned around to head to his room when his legs crashed into a figure a foot or two shorter then he was.  
  
"Dobby!" Draco yelled, earning him a quick glance from his mother who was now walking around the corner down the corridor ahead.  
  
"Here is your drink, sir, young Master Draco, sir," Dobby squeaked, handing over a crystal-cut glass with a bubbling brown liquid in it. Draco took the glass abruptly, spilling some of it on the wooden floor. Dobby bent down to wipe it up with his pillow case clothes when he received a kick.  
  
"Stupid elf," he grumbled, still rubbing his bruised shins when the elf skidded away.  
  
"Draco," his mother warned from somewhere down the hall. Her tone was reminding him that he still had his Potions homework to do.  
  
"I know, I know," he drawled, scowling to himself.   
  
Draco began climbing the steps up to his room in a gloomy sort of state. He'd give anything to not have to write anymore essays, no matter how much he liked Potions or Professor Snape. He hated writing them with a passion especially during the holidays when he could have been doing something more productive - like practising Quidditch for example. He'd make it on the team this year if it killed him.  
  
Plopping down on his large four-poster bed, Draco pulled out a new eagle feather quill and a roll of parchment. He skimmed through his Potions textbook turning periodically to the index to find the function of an ingredient or the result of a potion. The only noise that could be heard from the inside of his room for the next hour was the sound of quill scratching parchment and Draco muttering about time wasting essays. His parents had better be pleased about that not to mention Professor Snape who always graded harshly even though Draco was his favourite student. He was adding the finishing touches to the conclusion when a distinct 'pop' could be heard outside in the hallway, then the loud creaking of his door as it was slowly opened.  
  
"Sir, s-supper is ready, young Master Draco," Tilly, another house elf for the Malfoy's, had her body half hidden behind the door as she spoke.  
  
Draco sighed loudly, he was so close to finishing and now he had lost the perfect ending to an otherwise perfect written report. Stupid elf, he thought.   
  
Down in the dining area, Lucius and Narcissa were quietly sitting at the table, both reading a copy of the Evening Prophet from opposite ends of the large table. Upon entering, Draco received minimal acknowledgement from both of his parents.  
  
"Evening Mum," he paused, nodding politely. "Father."  
  
"Evening Draco," they both said, not bothering to look up. Apparently the paper was more important then him at the moment. But it was, as always, the same ritual he had endured most of his life.   
  
The table was already set by the elf servants and the food lay steaming in assorted silver dishware. Draco helped himself to a large spoonful of mashed potatoes and some buttered broccoli.  
  
"Lucius, did you read about the raids the Ministry has been conducting recently? Dreadful," Narcissa asked, passing Draco the creamed corn.  
  
"Mmm," he answered, his mouth full. "I do hope they're paying Arthur Weasley well." His lips broke into a malicious smile as he flipped to the fourth page.  
  
"Mother, can I read that?" Draco asked, eyeing the Evening Prophet. The mentioning of the Weasel's father had peaked his interest.  
  
She handed him the paper without thought. Draco's mouth breaking into a grin mirroring his father's as he glanced over the article. This would certainly provide him at least a week's worth of insults toward Weasley when he got back to school. Excellent.  
  
He hardly thought anything of the raids until the day's earlier events came to mind. His parents must have been concealing some Dark objects and that's why his mother hadn't wanted him to see.  
  
"Father," Draco said suddenly. "They wouldn't try and search the Manor, would they?"  
  
Lucius looked at his son, the answer obvious, "Of course not. Although I wouldn't put it past Arthur Weasley to at least try. We've been as low profile as possible, so don't go around Hogwarts telling everyone that we have anything. At a time like this we can't afford to have our cover blown," his eyes narrowed at Draco.  
  
"Lucius, you really should think of selling some of it. We don't need it anyway," his mother suggested. She despised to see Lucius berate Draco. "Mr. Borgin would probably love to buy some of it."  
  
"Yes father!" Draco said excitedly. He loved going to Knockturn Alley. He found the best Dark objects there. It also made for good gloating as most other wizarding families wouldn't allow their children on such a dangerous street.  
  
Lucius' eyes darted toward his son in a look of amused shock, "Why would I take you?"  
  
"Well," Draco paused. "I do need to go to Diagon Alley. Term starts in a week and I need my new school books and such."   
  
The perfect excuse, and he hadn't even had to lie.  
  
His mother nodded, agreeing, "It won't hurt to let him go with you, Lucius. Just don't you touch  
anything." She pointed a long, thin finger at Draco.  
  
"Please?" Draco pleaded. With his mother on his side there was a sure chance Lucius would let him go.  
  
Lucius sighed unpleasantly, "I suppose you can come along."  
  
There was a quiet "Yes!" from Draco at the announcement which neither of his parents heard.  
  
"Should I owl Mr. Borgin and tell him you're coming? He must be busy, considering all of the happenings," Narcissa asked. She was wise to assume Mr. Borgin was busy. His store - Borgin and Burkes - was one of the most well established shops in Knockturn Alley and was no doubt getting a lot of business from wizards holding onto belongings they'd used in the time of Lord Voldemort.  
  
"Yes, tell him Draco is coming also," Lucius pushed his chair away from the table, silently excusing himself. His last statement seemed cryptic but there was no time to ask him to decipher it.  
  
Draco quietly finished what was left on his plate, excitedly thinking of all the things he would be able to look at in Borgin and Burkes. His father was strict on the things he could buy, but Draco was positive he'd be able to muster enough pocket money to at least buy one little thing.  
He, too, was about to excuse himself when his mother stopped him.  
  
"Draco, you have finished all of your schoolwork, haven't you?" she asked. Her arm was across his chest, pinning him to his chair.  
  
"Er," Draco started. "Almost done with my last Potions essay." He smiled.   
  
"You know your father won't let you go unless you're done all of it," Narcissa reminded him. She had had enough of Lucius's yelling at Draco about his grades and would not permit her son to do so poorly this year especially after the amount of convincing she'd done to get him into Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang.  
  
"I would have finished if the bloody house elf hadn't bothered me," he complained.  
  
She gave him a meaningful look and left the table, calling the house elves to come and clean up. A group of young elves had already congregated at his feet by the time he stood up forcing him to wade through and finally burst out of the dining room with effort.   
  
Draco trudged back to his room in silence except for the slap of his shoes against the marble stairs. Opening the door, he yelped in surprise. Sitting on the bed was a huge tawny owl quietly preening itself in the candlelight. An envelope dangled from its leg in a poorly tied bow half ripped open from the current of air that had beaten against it on the journey. He tore it open, his face contorting to a look of pure disgust as his eyes met the loopy pink handwriting. It was from Pansy.  
  
He didn't even bother reading it her letters were always full of drivel about her boring life, but instead bent down to pick up the pictures that had fallen to the floor. Each picture was almost exactly the same, each had Pansy smiling shyly towards the camera. He threw them aside as well, as far as he knew Pansy and him were not dating, though she seemed to think differently.   
  
"Go away," he hissed at the owl, pushing it over. It hooted at him angrily and flew out the window without a backwards glance rattling a few things on the dresser near the bed with it's massive wingspan.  
  
"I knew I shouldn't have left the window open," Draco mumbled to himself, slamming it shut.  
  
He turned back to his bed with his forgotten essay still lying on top. He really didn't feel like finishing it, but the thought of Knockturn Alley was more important. Picking up his quill, he neatly wrote out the last couple of sentences to his conclusion, then lazily fell back onto a pillow.   
  
Draco sighed loudly, eyelids drooping closed as he fell into a dreamless sleep. 


	2. The Hand of Glory

The sun was just beginning to stream through the window, but the pillow strewn over Draco's face blocked it all out. He'd thrown it over himself sometime in the middle of the night - a frog had been croaking so loudly he kept being woken up.  
  
"Young Master Draco, sir," a house-elf standing at the edge of his bed was roughly shaking him awake.  
  
"Master Malfoy is waiting for you."  
  
"Mmmph," he mumbled, turning over on his stomach away from the house-elf. "Go away."  
  
The house-elf snapped her fingers, instantly sending Draco's bed into convulsive shudders. The wooden frame made so much racket it sounded as if it would break in two.  
  
"Stop!" Draco yelled. The house-elf shrieked loudly as he kicked it with a sleep-weary leg, sending it running out the door. The bed gave a few more lurches sending Draco slamming into his pillow then finally calmed down.  
  
He mumbled a few obscenities before dragging himself out of bed, still a bit shaken from the sudden awakening. So this was what it was like to get up at the crack of dawn. Note to self - don't do it often.  
  
Most of the early morning logic, or lack thereof in his case, that was required when one woke up was done; the black robes he was to wear today were already hanging neatly off the back of a side chair, a high probability that was the work of Dobby, one of the Malfoy's senior house-elves.   
  
He noticed a green snake-shaped pin on the seat of the chair, as well, to show he was a part of the Slytherin House at Hogwarts, though Draco was sure he didn't need a pin to show that. Changing out of his severely wrinkled dark blue robes, which he had forgotten to take off the night before after so lazily falling asleep, he put on the freshly laundered ones that smelled of washing detergent and cinnamon.  
  
His eyes were bloodshot the tiny red veins darting out of the small grey irises and his hair oddly tangled in a way reminiscent of Harry Potter's, but he couldn't help admiring himself in the mirror.   
  
He began to brush out his hair with an expensive brush made of cherry maple wood and stiffened unicorn hair. His fingers became sticky as he plunged them into a small tub of hair gel to smooth everything out.  
  
"You shouldn't gel your hair back so much dear," the mirror said.   
  
Draco glared at his reflection, "I didn't ask your opinion."  
  
Why he had to have a mirror that talked back was beyond him. They didn't have much in common taste wise and it became quite a nuisance when Draco wasn't sure if he liked how he looked or not.  
  
Just for spite he added even more Slick-E-Z hair gel. The reflection of himself distorted as the mirror visibly cringed with horror. As much as a mirror can cringe, of course. Having heard of what had happened to Draco's last mirror - a horrible "accident" in which it ended up completely shattered - his current mirror decided to say no more.  
  
Once satisfied he sashayed out of the room, winking at himself every time he caught a glimpse of his face in the hallway mirrors.  
  
"Your father is waiting for you in the dining room," Draco's mother said, giving him an odd look, as he passed her down the staircase. On any other morning his mother would have still been sleeping in the master suite but she always took it upon herself to see them off when they made trips by Floo powder.  
  
When Draco came to the door of the room he noted, not surprisingly, that his father was transfixed with the Daily Prophet resting uneasily in his hand. He assumed his father would likely want to keep abreast of what was going on throughout the more important regions of the Wizarding world, and to keep an eye on any misfortunes Arthur Weasley might come across.   
  
"Good morning, Draco," Lucius said, in a choked yet still serious tone.  
  
"I trust you have finished all of your schoolwork?"   
  
Draco nodded, "Finished my last Potions essay last night."  
  
"You always did have a gift for Potions," he remarked.   
  
Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't continue the conversation. It was odd for his father to be so generous with compliments, he usually found him making comments on his lack of fair grades. Even then Lucius was discrete - he took pride in being a father but he made it only too obvious at times that he would have rather not had a child running amuck.  
  
"I trust Professor Snape informed you of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Lucius' eyes hadn't left the page but Draco could tell they were becoming small slits in shocked anger.  
  
Draco was helping himself to a bit of fried egg and looked to his father quizzically.   
  
"Erm.. no," he admitted. He hadn't heard anything from Professor Snape over summer holiday and he hadn't expected to. It was common knowledge Snape enjoyed Draco's presence in Potions but not enough to owl him any news of a new teacher. Unless it was Snape himself, but by the look on his father's face that was not the case.  
  
Lucius's eyes narrowed in disgust, "Gilderoy Lockhart," he spat. "The man is an idiot.  
  
The noise of silver on silver rang out as Draco dropped his fork, horrified. In his opinion, anyone would have been better for the job then Lockhart. Anyone.  
  
"What?" he sputtered, hardly noticing when an elf had clamoured into the room to replace the fork that now lay on the ground.  
  
"I told your mother that you were better off at Durmstrang, but she refused to listen. With that Muggle-loving Dumbledore as headmaster, I knew you wouldn't get an adequate Dark Arts training," Lucius seemed to have ignored his son's outcry but Draco hardly noticed.   
  
He'd never met Lockhart, but he knew plenty about him. But who wouldn't? His ugly face was on the cover of Witch Weekly every other edition and he was always being praised for banishing a banshee or staking a vampire.   
  
"Why didn't Dumbledore give the job to Professor Snape?" That only seemed logical in Draco's mind as Professor Snape had wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching job for years.  
  
Lucius only shrugged in reply though he thought it would have been an excellent idea himself.  
  
"Father, you've got to do something about it," Draco said.   
  
"I plan to," his father replied through gritted teeth.   
  
"Lucius," his mother had appeared at the doorway. "You've got an owl from Mr. Borgin."   
  
She handed him the envelope stamped with the Knockturn Alley emblem, watching tensely as he tore it open.   
  
"We had better go, Draco," his father said giving no physical clues as to what was written.  
  
Narcissa remained quiet, waiting for Lucius to announce what the letter said.   
  
Draco looked from his mother to his father, "What's going on?"   
  
Lucius glanced at his son, clearly not wanting to say anything in front of him, but he did nonetheless.   
  
"Mr. Borgin has informed me that the Ministry of Magic is conducting more raids and that it would be wise to go to him immediately if I wish to sell certain things," he looked livid.   
  
Draco was sure no one from the Ministry would dare search the Manor - the name Malfoy still demanded respect throughout the wizarding world - but they couldn't be too careful, especially with the shocking amount of valuable things hidden around the house. Lucius seemed to think the same - making his way hastily to the passageways throughout the Manor that housed the objects he had come to be almost famous for.  
  
"Have you got your list of things you need, Draco?" Narcissa asked as Lucius left the room to gather the items being sold.   
  
"Yes mum," he replied impatiently. "Not that it matters, half the books on there are Lockhart's."  
  
His mother visibly shuddered at the mere mention of his name. She had gone to school with Lockhart and being a true Slytherin at heart she had never warmed up to his poly-glitter stained smile nor believed all his tales of impossible feats.  
  
Lucius returned a short time later with his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail to rest on his spine.  
  
"Let's go," he said, pulling Draco out of his chair and ushering him out of the room.  
  
"Father, you are still going to buy me a broom, aren't you?" Draco asked as he followed Lucius to the main fireplace in the Manor.   
  
His father gave an aggravated sigh, "Not if you keep asking."   
  
Draco didn't have time to protest, a serpent-carved jar filled with a greenish substance was being thrust into his chest impatiently by Lucius.   
  
The grainy sand tickled the tips of his fingers as he grasped onto a fistful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. It roared with a sudden burst of emerald flames, tickling Draco further as he stepped in. The fire covered him like a wet blanket, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He could just make out Lucius' tall figure through the flames standing impatiently as he waited for his son to be done.  
  
"Knockturn Alley!" Draco yelled willing himself not to cough as a trickle of Floo powder entered his throat.   
  
His head spun as he passed fireplace after fireplace the people on the outside were blurry blobs at the speed he was going. Draco's body was just getting used to the dizzying images when his feet slammed into the fire place of an unfamiliar shop. It was small and dingy, like most of the shops at Knockturn Alley, but it was missing the intriguing dark objects that usually inhabited the shop shelves.   
  
In fact, it was missing basically everything. The shelves had thick layers of dust settled upon them and the windows were covered with so much dirt and grim you could hardly see out of them. Why the Floo Networking Office chose this shop as the connection to Knockturn Alley was beyond Draco.   
  
A swooshing sound of a cape behind him indicated that his father had arrived as well. Brandishing his wand, Lucius cleared the soot off himself and Draco. Travelling by Floo powder was definitely his father's least favourite way of getting about, but they had no choice until Draco was old enough to Apparate - brooms were too slow to cover the distance to London and much too dangerous if they wished to stay hidden from Muggles - and, as his father had warned, Draco would learn how to Apparate the minute he was out of Hogwarts.   
  
Draco had hoped to learn sooner but after telling Lucius this he had been given a lecture on the dangerousness of Apparating, and that his father would not tolerate having to be questioned by the Ministry if Draco wound up being spliced and seen by Muggles.  
  
They walked out of the shop without so much as a word to each other and began to make their way over to Borgin and Burkes. Draco had hoped to get there as quickly as possible but it took a considerably long time as Lucius kept getting stopped to chat with by old friends. He'd try to quickly end the conversation with a hushed whisper about the raids, but it didn't seem to be working on a particularly jolly fellow who kept slapping Draco on the back, much to Draco's own annoyance.   
  
"Well," Lucius said abruptly. "We really must be going. We have a great deal to do."  
  
"Oh come now, Lucius!" the man protested. "Have a drink with me, we can catch up on old times." He slapped Draco again, sending him lurching forward and almost knocking into a witch carrying a tray of fingers. His father quickly grabbed the collar of his robe and pulled him backward again, noticeably more irritated that he couldn't seem to get rid of the man.   
  
"I've got business elsewhere," he finally said, in a low warning hiss.   
  
The man's face went from gaily smiling to a solemn frown. His manner changed as well. "Well, good day then, Mr. Malfoy," he said formally, bowing slightly and scurrying away.   
  
After a few more minutes of battling their way through shadowed crowds, which was quite unlike Knockturn Alley but not surprising due to the news of the raids, both Draco and Lucius made it to Borgin and Burkes unscathed.   
  
For the sheer mass of volume apparent out on the street, the shop they entered was eerily deserted. Draco didn't seem to mind; he rather enjoyed being able to roam around without bumping into someone every two seconds. His father had gone up to the front counter ringing the bell sitting on top impatiently.   
  
Draco eyed a rather bloody tongue with interest but it was the withered hand on the pillow that got his attention. He bent down to study the wrinkles and cuts of it and the moldy fingernails clinging for life at the tips of the fingers.  
  
"Father, can I have that?" he asked, pointing to the hand.   
  
"Draco, I said I'd buy you a racing broom, not a useless, shrivelled hand," Lucius had hardly even given the object that lay in such stark contrast on the silken pillow a second glance.   
  
Draco crossed his arms in anger, glaring at the back of his father's head and scowling. The hand might be useless but it was interesting and would look dangerous perched near his bed at Hogwarts.  
  
"What's the point if I'm not even on the House team?" he pouted, his trademark grey eyes in tiny slits. He already had schemes reeling in his mind of how to get a position on the Slytherin team but that wouldn't help his argument at the moment.  
  
"Potter got special treatment last year. He's not even that good. Dumbledore probably just wants to get on his good side; Merlin forbid anyone should stand up to the famous Harry Potter. Just because he has some stupid scar on his forehead."   
  
He mumbled the last bit, but Lucius still heard him.   
  
"You have told me this at least a dozen times, Draco. If I didn't know any better I'd say that you had a crush on him," Lucius drawled, ringing the bell for the shopkeeper once more. "And you ought to be more careful how you talk about him around your peers. It wouldn't be prudent to have people thinking we're on the Dark Lord's side. After all of the convincing and money I had to -"  
  
Mr. Borgin had finally appeared, cutting off the lengthy speech Lucius had just started.   
  
"Ah, Mr. Borgin," Lucius smiled coldly.   
  
Draco turned his attention away - he had no interest in listening to his father haggle. Nor any interest in looking at Mr. Borgin. His hair and face were about as oily as his voice, and twice as hideous.   
  
Instead, he looked back to the hand. Reading the sign, he discovered it was called the Hand of Glory, but it gave away no other details.   
  
"Ah!" Mr. Borgin had suddenly appeared behind him and was looking quite interested. Draco winced at the sudden closeness of their bodies. Mr. Borgin was a fine dealer in Dark objects but he had no knack for social skills nor, apparently, bathing skills either.  
  
"I see your son has taken a liking to the Hand of Glory," he said to Lucius, his voice dripping. He was trying to keep a tone of professionalism but quavering slightly in his excitement. He no doubt thought Draco was interested in buying and by the tone in his voice the Hand of Glory was expensive. "Impeccable taste he has. The Hand has been known to be most helpful to thieves and plunderers; gives light only to the person holding it."   
  
Lucius sneered, "I hope you're not insinuating my son is to become a thief or plunderer."   
  
Mr. Borgin's eyes widened a bit in shock, "N-no, of course not."   
  
"Good, now if we could get back to my list? We've still got Draco's school supplies to purchase today."  
  
The attention shifted back to Lucius' list of objects he was interested in selling, and Draco had abandoned the Hand of Glory.   
  
Instead, he made his way forward to a neglected looking curio-cabinet. The handles were slightly rusted but he figured that he could probably wrench it open anyway. You never knew what you would find in a place like this - the shop was of considerable size and many places in it had been long forgotten. Maybe he had just stumbled upon something that held objects of promise.  
  
Draco reached out to try when his father's voice cut in again. "Done. Come Draco, we're finished here."   
  
He frowned slightly, turning to follow his father obediently out of the shop. He wanted to protest but seeing Mr. Borgin always put Lucius in a horrid mood.  
  
"Good day, Borgin," Lucius didn't wait for Borgin to reply, the sound of the bell above the door tinkling as he hustled out, Draco in tow. 


	3. Well, if it isn’t famous Harry Potter

Now with a load considerably lighter then before, both Malfoys were more easily able to weave their way through and around the still ever growing crowd of Knockturn Alley. It wasn't an easy task, Draco realised, after he bumped into several people in a row.   
  
He began to panic when he could no longer see his father's blonde hair in front of him and was about to ask someone for help when Lucius's hand shot out of no where and clutched his arm.   
  
Draco breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar touch and once again began started walking forward, careful though to make sure no one came between his father's arm and him.  
  
Once up the steps toward Diagon Alley his eyes bulged in disbelief. If it was even possible, it seemed this crowd was larger the sea of pointed black hats looked like a sturdy carpet. The largest congregation, though, was outside of Flourish and Blotts. As they drew closer Draco noted that almost all of the people outside the shop were witches, some accompanied by their annoyed and out-of-place husbands who busied themselves with small talk and trying to avoid looking ahead at what was inside the shop.  
  
Draco squeezed in-between people to get through, abandoning his father who had been stopped by an acquaintance to chat. Moving closer toward the front of the line, he saw what was causing all the fuss. Gilderoy Lockhart, bedecked in cobalt blue robes, was smiling his sickeningly white smile. He hardly seemed to notice the books he was signing, he was much more interested in dazzling people with his teeth instead.   
  
One after another witches ranging from in their early twenties to late fourties bustled up to him sticking out their worn down books into his hands. A few women were seated in the corner, slumped over chairs and being fanned by young workers.  
  
Draco sneered at the pitiful scene in front of him and trudged up the stairs of Flourish and Blotts to safely purchase his books without being mauled. He stopped at the top, leaning over the blue and creaking railing that hardly felt as if it could support any weight at all, to watch the action when he saw someone else enter the shop.   
  
With his upper lip still curled in disgust, Draco grabbed the last of his books, Voyages with Vampires, and trudged back down careful to conceal what he was holding. He was just in time to see Lockhart grab a small, black- haired boy by the neck and have a picture snapped.  
  
As the boy shakily made his way toward the door, weighed down by a large stack of Lockhart's books, Draco stepped forward to stop him from leaving.  
  
"Well, if it isn't famous Harry Potter," his grey eyes stared disdainfully at the soot on Harry's robes and face. Hadn't anyone ever heard of magic? Surely the Boy Who Lived could spare some for cleaning himself off to look presentable. "Can't even go into a book shop without making the front page." Not that Draco thought Potter worthy of the front page but no doubt with Lockhart in the picture the press would at least have to put it on the second.  
  
Harry only glared, ostensibly not brave enough to start anything with so many people around. Good thing, too, considering Draco's father was only metres away.  
  
"Leave him alone!" A small redheaded girl with a number of freckles had suddenly appeared. She, too, was covered in soot and carrying a rather shabby looking cauldron.  
  
Draco's eyes flickered over to her then back to Potter, a smile playing at his lips, "Got yourself a girlfriend, eh Potter?"   
  
She wasn't much - no money and mediocre looks wouldn't get you far.  
  
The girl went scarlet, and looked as though she were about to answer when her father walked up.  
  
"It's stuffy in here, how 'bout we get a bit of fresh air?" He had started to usher his children forward when Draco's father stepped in to stop the group from moving further before he could have a chance to chat.  
  
"Arthur Weasley," he drawled coldly.  
  
"Lucius," was the equally chilly reply.  
  
They both glared at each other while Draco continued to stare at Potter though he wasn't looking back.  
  
"I heard about all those raids. A dreadful thing. I do hope they're paying you well," Lucius plucked a copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration out of the girl's cauldron. The book looked so worn that it would crumple to dust at any given moment. He gave it a casual looking over before he said anything else.  
  
"Apparently not."   
  
He threw the book back into the cauldron, it making a considerably louder noise then would've been expected of a book that size.  
  
Draco squinted to get a look at the contents of the cauldron when he spotted something that hadn't been there before. He hadn't much paid attention to what was in it previously but he could swear there was now another book - rubberbanded to the Transfiguration book. Much smaller in contrast, Draco couldn't see much of it, though he could tell it was black. And as the girl turned slightly to move out of a woman's way, he got a glimpse of gold letters spelling out "iddle".  
  
He strained his eyes and craned his neck but the girl had stepped backwards as their fathers argued like young children. There was no use in trying any further; she was half hidden by Hermione now. There was no chance of Draco getting closer unless he wanted it to look like he was associating with them. He would never stoop that low. Besides maybe he just hadn't noticed it at first it's not as if he'd given the contents inside much attention and by the size of the book it wouldn't have been easy to spot.   
  
He slumped back becoming more and more bored. His eyes wandered around the shop - taking in the still large crowd of women inside and out and the seemingly ever growing crowd of Weasley's that suffocated him with their red hair.   
  
As he'd been thinking this thought, yet another Weasley came abroad - only the second woman of the family he'd yet to see. At her arrival Arthur quickly cut off the 'discussion' he'd been having with Lucius, smiling widely as if to tell his wife they'd only been having a friendly conversation.  
  
"Come on, Arthur dear," she said quietly, giving both Lucius and Draco a discrete glare. "We've still got to get the children's other supplies."  
  
The Weasley's, Potter, and Granger brushed past. Draco let out a condescending snort as the redheaded girl walked past and tried vainly one last time to look at the book. A few others not with the group gave odd looks as they noticed him almost tip over.  
  
"Pay for your books," Lucius hissed.  
  
It seemed as though their presence had created a much unneeded stir of curiosity so Lucius was keen on leaving the shop immediately. After handing over seven Galleons to the store owner, both Malfoys were once again on the streets of Diagon Alley. The crowd had thinned after Lockhart announced he would be signing the last books within a few minutes then departing - but it was still difficult to get through.  
  
Luckily for both, Lucius wasn't well liked among the inhabitants of the cobbled alley way, many didn't believe his story of being under the Imperius curse by Voldemort, so they were only given quick glances.  
  
"What else do you need, boy?" His father asked.  
  
Draco glanced down at his list of supplies, he was running low on Potions equipment that he would need for brewing even the simplest concoctions. He didn't see the need to buy any more, though, as his father had a wealthy supply in an ingredients cupboard at the Manor. Draco had only to sneak in there to take what he needed -being careful not to take too much or it would be noticed - while Lucius was under the impression that Professor Snape lended Draco everything he would need.  
  
Draco shook his head, the rest of the supply list were things he could easily get by owl or things he already had at home. Lucius sighed loudly in relief.  
  
"Good, I need to speak with your Mother and I haven't got time for all of this." He waved his snake cane around airily almost hitting a few people in the head.  
  
As they walked toward the stairway down to Knockturn Alley, Draco remembered the most important thing they were to buy. Broomsticks. How could he have forgotten such a thing?  
  
Tugging on the arm of his father's dark cloak Draco said, "Father, we've still got to get my broomstick."   
  
He slowed as they passed the glass window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, which was displaying the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Draco couldn't be sure his father had even heard him until Lucius began steering both of them towards the shop. Looking at the Nimbus, Draco felt as if he were on top of the world. With a broom obviously better then Potter's there was no doubt he'd get on the House team and outstrip the supposed 'best Seeker since Charlie Weasley'.  
  
He didn't even bother looking at the one in the window closely, where several children were staring in awe, vainly asking their parents to buy them one.   
  
"We'd like to buy complete team set of Nimbus Two Thousand and One's," Lucius said, drawing the attention of the kids staring.  
  
Draco smirked proudly, inching closer so everyone would know the man was his father. The group of children glared back enviously then returned their focus to the broom in the window. That's right; keep on wishing, Draco thought.   
  
He looked casually at the robes and other less durable and fast brooms that had been stashed in haste in a corner near a full length mirror.  
  
The owner of the shop had disappeared into the back, only reappearing when he had seven broomsticks balanced carefully on his body, some under his arms, some under his chin. As he went to hand them over, Lucius sneered.  
  
"You don't expect me to carry them? Have them delivered to my Manor."  
  
Not surprisingly, the owner looked shocked. Having seven brooms delivered by owl was rather expensive, especially to a Manor not surrounded by anything close by, but money was never an issue with Draco's family. It had been hard enough walking through the streets with Dark objects concealed under their robes but it would be almost impossible to make their way back to the abandoned shop with a set of brooms.  
  
"Right away, sir," he replied, returning to the back to send them off.  
  
Draco was still interested in looking around but his father had lost all patience - it was obvious he wanted to leave. Not wanting to wait for his son, Lucius passed the goggling children to almost disappear into the crowd of Diagon Alley.  
  
"Father, wait!" Draco called, glaring at a young girl who giggled at him as he ran to catch up to his father.  
  
The walk back to the un-owned shop was uncomfortably silent and awkward, Draco's father had blatantly ignored several people on the way, no doubt insulting them with the action. 


	4. Flight of the Fancy

Lucius grabbed the small jar of Floo powder, this time going first. Draco could have easily stayed behind without his father noticing but he thought better of it. If his father did notice, there was no doubt in Draco's mind that Lucius would not be amused. Even a boy of Draco's status would be wise to realise that Knockturn Alley wasn't safe for a child, even if he was almost a teenager. Rather reluctantly, Draco reached for the powder and created his own emerald green flames in the cramped fireplace.   
  
Arriving home at last, Draco stole a glance at the only clock in the house that gave off the real time - the rest were wizarding clocks that he never bothered to read. The short hand was rounding towards two . Just in time for lunch, Draco thought.   
  
"Mother!" he yelled.   
  
"It's already on the table, Draco," she replied, appearing at the doorway.  
  
After stepping out of their much larger fireplace in the main study room, he began to dust himself off while peering into a mirror to straighten his hair. The light blonde strands had become severely covered in black soot, much to his dismay. He would have loved to fix his appearance with a wave of his wand but he knew only too well what his parents would say if they got an owl from the Ministry of Magic.   
  
The table in the dining room was, as his mother had said, already set and lavished with a variety of foods. There was a delicious looking plate of fish and chips that Draco helped himself to, washing it down with a bit of pumpkin juice.   
  
Stacking a few crackers and cheese in his hand, he headed toward his room to get a better look at the books he had purchased.   
  
After settling himself comfortably on his bed he cracked open Year with the Yeti. Draco was in stitches of laughter within minutes of beginning the first chapter, which went into detail on Lockhart's more personal life. Whoever thought this rubbish was true was obviously mistaken. Even with the entertainment of reading such ludicrous material , Draco was bored quickly.  
  
There really was no point in reading them all now, knowing he'd forget what was said before term began, if he had to read them for assignments throughout the year. He wasn't even sure if he'd make it through every class, he was already really agitated that he'd have to spend what was one of his favourite classes with Lockhart.   
  
The handle of one of his Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones glittered in the sunlight through the window on the East side of his room is, reminding Draco that there were seven broomsticks sitting in his room, begging to be used. The wood was highly polished, almost giving the effect that it was fake maple. The twigs at the end were shaped to look like a paintbrush while two brass metal footholds stuck out on the sides.  
  
His thumb stroked over the gold letters and admired the fine carving work of the whole broom. Gryffindor didn't stand a chance with the Slytherin team riding on these. He smiled to himself, he would love to see the look on Potter's face when they won the Quidditch Cup.   
  
Out the window, the sun was still hanging in the sky, alone, without a cloud in sight. It was perfect weather to test the steering and maneuverability, even the speed, of the new Nimbus. Draco hadn't flown very much all summer- his father wanted him to focus more on his studies after learning of Draco's disappointing end of term grades. Now with the chance to get on the House Team, he couldn't imagine his father objecting that Draco get a bit of practice.  
  
With his Nimbus in hand, Draco descended the stairs toward his father's study where Lucius was known to spend most of his time doing work for the Ministry. What he did in that room was unknown, but Draco had the sneaking suspicion it wasn't anything good.  
  
"Father?" he asked, tapping lightly on the door with two slim fingers.  
  
"Come in," was the muffled reply.  
  
Draco creaked the door open. His father was sitting at a desk in a tense position, pouring over a long roll of parchment with words in another language. Lucius hardly looked up as his son entered.  
  
"Could I ride one of the new Nimbus's? I've hardly had any practice all summer," he trailed off.  
  
"Be in before dark then," Lucius muttered, waving an absent hand to dismiss Draco from the room.  
  
The fields surrounding the Manor were bare, with only a few lone trees to be seen for what felt like miles. The architecture, or lack of it, of the outlying land was intentional. The Malfoy's had lived in this particular manor for centuries and the men of the family had always prided themselves on their Quidditch abilities-- so when the house was built, trees were exempt to make for easier flying. Ordinarily, it would've looked quite odd to a passing Muggle, but self-respecting wizards had learned long ago to put Muggle repelling charms on their houses.  
  
The moment Draco had stepped out of the front door, he had already mounted the broom and was soaring through the air weightlessly. He felt as though he hardly had to do a thing, the Nimbus seemed to take control of speed and direction, letting Draco's mind drift elsewhere. He could almost feel the Quidditch Cup in his hand, the cool gold on his fingertips as he lifted it into the air, the crowd chanting his name.   
  
His feet were resting easily on the footholds, balancing him back as he started to lean forward. The sudden jerking motion of trying to save himself from falling off the front interrupted his short lived fantasy, though.   
  
He practised a few loops and sharp turns. If he hadn't known better he could have sworn the broom had a mind of its own. It slowed itself down to brace for the turns and did all of the physical work that usually had to be included when making loops.  
  
All too soon, the sun began to hide itself behind a hill and Draco was forced to trudge back into the house, feeling as though he had just hit rock bottom from an extreme euphoria.  
  
"You look like shit," a voice said. The owner was hidden in the shadows, their somewhat bulky yet elegant frame leaning against the wall.   
  
Draco's head shot up just in time to see Pansy Parkinson emerge into the darkened candle light with a playful smirk on her pug-like face.   
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, straightening his back to appear taller and more superior. His hair was wind blown from the hours he had spent practising and his cheeks were an air-beaten rosy colour.  
  
Pansy's smirk flickered. "I told you I was coming in the letter I sent- didn't you read it?"   
  
Draco wanted to laugh in her face. As if I'd waste my time with petty letters from silly little girls. If it had been any other person standing in front of him right now, asking this insanely obvious question, he would have given them a truthful answer, but it was Pansy Parkinson, and he knew all too well that their fathers were in alliance with each other and the Dark Lord. The moment he said anything crude to Pansy, she would be at her father's side crying like he had just killed her beloved pet.  
  
"I didn't get it," he said defensively. The owl that had delivered the letter to his bedside hadn't looked too strong in the first place, so it was a plausible excuse that it hadn't made the journey to the Manor.  
  
Pansy shrugged slightly, a look of hurt still on her face. "Well, we won't be leaving for awhile."   
  
Draco groaned inwardly. He'd experienced having Pansy and her father over far too many times already. Usually in such an instance he was reduced to play baby-sitter, entertaining Pansy so she wouldn't whine and interrupt whatever important matters were taking place in Lucius' private study.   
  
"Is that the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One?" Her eyes scanned the gold letters incredulously, her fingers twitching to get a touch.   
  
Draco instinctively backed away with his prized possession in hand. He would never let her dirty fingers come anywhere near such a prized object.  
  
"Yes, my father bought a whole set for the Slytherin Team." His chest puffed out in pride. Even if it was just Pansy, he felt the need to impress her. No doubt the whole Slytherin House would find out about this before the start of term with her knowing - she was the queen of gossip.   
  
"Wow..." she muttered, her hands instinctively twitching once more.  
  
Draco sighed, finally letting her grubby hands get a feel of the broom. This was going to be a long night. 


	5. Hello, Draco I'm Tom Riddle

Both Pansy and Draco were confined to a small part of the dining room table, the rest being taken up by the three adults and some lavish plans for a new room to the Manor. Draco's arms crossed in annoyance at having to still sit at the 'childrens' table when he should have been allowed to socialise with adults.  
  
"If you put it here then you can reach it quite easily from a number of rooms."  
  
Thomas Parkinson was pointing at architectural drawings scrawled on parchment of every room in the house, some Draco didn't even know existed. Nor would he even attempt to get to them - he'd always assumed there were probably magically hidden parts of the house as there always was in old manors. He had tried once before to enter a dungeon door that appeared one day but walked out covered in feathers, much to his mother's dismay and his father's evil delight. Though he couldn't help wondering why they were hidden and it constantly nagged at him in the back of his mind.  
  
Lucius was nodding, tugging on a small scroll to reveal that there were several yards rolled up in the little cacoon. The house elves were having a hard time setting dishes on the table without knocking into anyone or covering up something that might be vitally important. There was simply no more room left. Though Narcissa had no sympathy toward the annoying vermin, she was getting quite agitated herself with their constant interruptions and spills.  
  
"Now really, Lucius," she began. "Is it necessary to do this at the table? I'd like to enjoy my meal in peace without hearing you two bickering."  
  
She gave both of them a stern look and with a reproachful sigh, Mr. Parkinson and Lucius began clearing away the parchment. A house elf came to help but quickly scampered off when Lucius yelled at it to stay away.  
  
Draco at once scooted away from Pansy to give them suitable room apart. The adults began a series of dull conversation between themselves as Draco poked at a joint of meat steaming in front of him with a fork.  
  
"How have the holidays been treating you?" Mr. Parkinson turned towards Draco and asked haughtily.  
  
Draco shrugged silently keeping his eyes on his plate. "Fine, I guess," he mumbled.  
  
These business dinners' are so boring. We don't even need another room in the house, he thought. Though the son of Lucius and a Malfoy at heart, Draco really wasn't too interested in wizarding politics or any business talk Lucius engaged himself in. Draco would rather stick to listening in on private conversations, thank you.  
  
His mother was much the same which, Draco thought, is probably where he got it from. His fork made a miniature hill of mashed potatoes as Mr. Parkinson began talking of Arthur Weasley, whom he wasn't fond of either. The mention of that name launched yet another lengthy talk of today's events. Narcissa cleared her throat to get attention.  
  
"While you two gentlemen discuss matters of," she paused with a look of disgust on her face, "Arthur Weasley, the children and I will find some more suitable form of entertainment."  
  
Both Draco and Pansy sighed with relief, pushing their chairs away from the table and lifting their plates to accommodate the scrolls that quickly littered the table once again. Draco was relieved to find that Narcissa would be joining him in the task of entertaining Pansy since it was not easily defeatable. However, he must have misinterpreted his mother's words because as soon as they left the dining room she went the opposite direction.  
  
She had only gone a few feet when she retreated back and, grabbing Draco's arm in an unnecessarily strong hold, hissed; "Keep her entertained, I don't want your father and Mr. Parkinson to be interrupted."  
  
Draco nodded silently, rubbing his forearm where her fingers had been wrapped tightly around the skin. The glare directed towards Narcissa's back had gone unnoticed by Pansy, who was now chattering like a bird on drugs.  
  
"Let's play a game," she suggested.  
  
Draco was caught off guard and sputtered a bit. "A game? What kind of game?" He thought with grim satisfaction what kind of game he'd like to play with her. Maybe hide and seek, he could leave her hiding for hours...  
  
"Chess?" she piped enthusiastically.  
  
"You know how to play Chess?" he asked. Draco had deliberately meant it as an insult but by the smile on her face she hadn't taken it that way.  
  
"I know how to do a lot of things."  
  
There was a visible shudder on Draco's part as Pansy grinned up at him.  
  
"Well?" she demanded after a moment of silence. "I haven't got all day you know."  
  
Draco sighed for what seemed the fiftieth time tonight and led her to his room. In any other circumstance he wouldn't have let her come within a hundred feet of his own living area, but the only other Chess board in the house belonged to his father and he wasn't about to go asking him for it.  
  
They would have to settle for Draco's slightly more battered wizarding chess set that he'd had since he was four. It was an old chess set made out of marbled stone and passed down father to son longer then Draco could care to remember. Lucius hesitated the day he gave it to Draco; he was afraid his son would break it but Draco proved himself. The set itself was still in good condition considering its history; the pieces had been magically protected so they would be able to heal themselves quickly and efficiently after a game.  
  
On close inspection it was obvious the black pieces had more damage then the white, Crabbe or Goyle always played black and they were both extremely stupid on the matter of how to properly play the game.  
  
The mirror in his room chuckled softly as it caught the reflection of Draco's eyes darting about while Pansy fondled anything within her reach.  
  
The chess set hadn't been used since the last week of term and was properly buried among other school things he had ditched when he arrived home two months prior.  
  
"I wouldn't have expected you to be so clean," Pansy commented snidely, taking in the bare floor and made bed. Even Draco couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"The house elves do that, I can't be bothered with women's work like cleaning."  
  
He finally, and triumphantly, pulled the set out and ushered Pansy out of the room. They passed the dining room where their fathers were still talking of the additional room Lucius had wanted added to the manor. In most cases it would've been a simple wave of the wand by a trained architectural wizard to do such a thing, but Lucius wanted it protected by powerful magic and the architecture for designing it was beyond what he knew, thus enlisting the help of Thomas Parkinson a well known wizarding architect. The men laughed harshly, the clank of two scotch glasses echoing down the hall.  
  
Settled in the small library, the two children had just began to set up the board and disentangle two pawns of the opposite colour that were fighting with each other over an argument the pieces had all been having, when Mr. Parkinson appeared in the doorway.  
  
"Time to head back, Pansy dear," he said.  
  
"But Daddy!" she whined. "We haven't even begun."  
  
Mr. Parkinson smiled. Draco could only guess he must be one of the more experienced wizard architects, for someone with his personality would surely clash with a person like Lucius.  
  
"You'll have to continue it some other day. Your mother is expecting us back and we can't leave her waiting."  
  
His daughter's shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat and she sulked out of the room almost looking on the verge of tears. Draco remained in the room but caught a bit of what Mr. Parkinson said to Lucius on the way out.  
  
"Seems Pansy has a little crush on Draco, hmm? They'd be quite a pair wouldn't they?"  
  
If Lucius replied Draco didn't hear it, but he could guess that his father most likely wouldn't like the idea of the two being a couple. Lucius didn't mind Mr. Parkinson even if he did seem to be a bit too happy at times, but Pansy was a different story. He found her irritating and meddlesome when it came to private matters. Secretly, Draco thought the same.  
  
All too soon Draco was being woken by a house elf the following morning. He glanced over at the aged wooden grandfather clock reading 8:45 A.M; that give him two hours until the train would leave.  
  
After kicking the house elf, whom he didn't know by name, out of the way, Draco headed toward the shower.  
  
He would have preferred to clean himself magically, as he did at school, but that would again be breaking a Ministry rule of underage wizardry. He was glad to know, though, that his father thought the rule was quite unnecessary. The only reason Draco could fathom his father wanting him to abide by it was Lucius wanting to keep a clean family record, as well as a low profile, until the Dark Lord came back into power.  
  
Having a Muggle cleaning system such as a shower was a bit embarrassing when Draco really thought about it, but he couldn't deny that it was pleasant, though not preferable over a bathtub that he had no time to use this morning.  
  
By the time he had exited the small room for the shower, the sun had risen enough to flood his bed with light. Freshly washed Hogwarts robes lay on his bed along side an already packed suitcase with the Slytherin serpent and Draco's initials carved into it. His father had had the suitcase specially made for Draco after having learned he had been Sorted into Slytherin, which was expected of every Malfoy. In the sunlight it glittered green and silver, the colours of his House.  
  
The half length mirror beside Draco's bed kept quiet as Draco sat on a chair preening himself, thinking it was probably wise not to say anything after what had happened a week earlier.  
  
Not, much to Draco's dismay, that he could have done much to upset the mirror anyway - the hot water never mixed well with the gel he used in his hair. He would just have to settle with having the strands hang down, tickling the insides of his ears and annoying his eyes.  
  
There was shuffling downstairs, presumably the house elves were fixing breakfast. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted under the doorway, diverting Draco's attention away from the ever important task of making himself look presentable.  
  
Upon reaching the dining room, several house elves bumped into Draco then ran off squealing in terror that he would punish them. He probably would have if they had stayed - he always hated elves. Stupid annoying things - always getting underfoot. He saw no reason they couldn't have human servants. What he wouldn't give to have Potter as his own personal slave, yelling at him to be a footstool or to refill Draco's glass.  
  
He chuckled to himself at the thought. Potter was always treated so leniently, those idiot Muggles he lived with probably lavished him with gifts. Out of fear, of course, that Potter would do something to them. Draco wouldn't put it past the prat to turn the Muggles all into dogs if they didn't adhere to his commands. Any self respecting wizard would do the same, but that was obviously beside the point.  
  
"What are you laughing about?" his father asked, entering the Dining Room from behind.  
  
Draco had been so caught up in his fantasy that he hadn't heard the door being opened.  
  
"Why can't we have human servants?" Draco was still too deeply delved in the idea of Potter serving him that he didn't much care to answer his father's question.  
  
The look on Lucius's face was suffice to say that the answer should have been apparent. "Because human's want pay for their work, Draco."  
  
As a side note he added, "Not that we have money problems, but we need hardly waste a single knut on human servants when we have perfectly capable house elves to do it for free."  
  
Perfectly capable was a bit of an overstatement. The house elves were dutiful but the senior elf, Dobby, kept burning food or running into Lucius as he tried to work. Nonetheless, his father did have a point. Unfortunately.  
  
Lucius took the seat at the head of the table, nonplussed to Draco's obviously apparent sulking in a chair on the opposite end. It had probably gone unnoticed as his eyes were focused on page three of the Daily Prophet. Mealtimes were always the same at the Malfoy Manor. Draco sat silently while his parents discussed matters unimportant to him or read the Prophet. And the only time the paper ever interested him was when mentioning of Arthur Weasley arose.  
  
The minutes ticked by slowly. There wasn't much to do until they arrived at the platform. If there had been any other children in the house he could have amused himself by playing Exploding Snap, but his parents had made it clear he wasn't going to be having any siblings. Lucius himself had three brothers and it had been a nightmare when it came down to who inherited what when Draco's grandfather had passed away. Not to mention Draco was quite enough on his own. 


End file.
